The sound my anklet makes. Sometimes I listen to the tiny sound my anklet makes when I move. It’s the only secret I can’t keep from these empty rooms. I wonder if someone imagines how it looks resting on my skin under my hijab. There are nights when the metal feels warmer, as if it remembers fingers touching it. Loneliness becomes deeper when I think of how close someone could stand. Maybe that’s why I keep writing, so what I feel doesn’t stay hidden under my hijab.
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